


Chilly winters and warm hearts

by Flame_Surfer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Barista Niall, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Mechanic Niall, Winter, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:25:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5417018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flame_Surfer/pseuds/Flame_Surfer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mere peek at Harry and Niall's Christmases and winters in drabble form.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One Where They're Broke

He's put the pork chops on and he knows that they'll be out of gas soon. But with Harry crooning to Bublé in the background and the fresh lovebite still throbbing right under his jaw, Niall can't really bring himself to care.

It's Christmas night and it's snowing outside. Their apartment is draughty, the heating as faulty as ever. The kitchen is cramped and the counter tops are sticky because the exhaust stopped working about a month ago. Harry's not much of a handyman and Niall usually leaves at the break of dawn, stumbles in at midnight with automobile grease staining his forearms and exhaustion weighing heavily on his eyelids.

But none of that matters because it's Christmas and suddenly Harry has his noodly arms wrapped around him, firm chest pressing against his back.

He feels the cold tip of Harry's nose graze his ear. "What's for dessert?" Niall feels more than hears his words, rumbling and honeyed with that hesitant undertone of _do we have any dessert at all?_ Niall tells him there's pudding and his chest constricts at the way Harry's _oh_ is more of a question than a statement. There's a kiss being pressed to the nape of his neck then, and Niall relaxes.White Christmas starts up on the radio and Harry falls into an easy harmony the way only him and Liam can.

Liam's postcard had arrived in the morning - He's doing well in Italy as a boxing instructor. Hasn't quite made his way up the ladder yet, but he's fiercely hardworking. Niall knows he'll get there.

"You still with me, babe?" Harry hums in his ear, lips brushing the shell.

And yeah, Niall's there.

Niall's right with him and they're together. It has been a tough year with the bills and taxes and saving up for the wedding. But they've made it so far, and he's confident they'll make it through the rest of eternity just like this. Holding each other up; the constant support, the unerring loyalty. After all, Niall wouldn't trade Harry's warmth for any heating system in the world, wouldn't trade the security of his arms for a better roof above his head. He won't trade their love for any amount of money in the world. When they go to bed that night, it's not on a full stomach. But they can dream, and it's enough.


	2. The One With The Café

A flurry of snowflakes whirl inside each time the door opens, stealing some of the cozy warmth from the café.

Inside, the place is buzzing with activity. Flocks of students and businessmen have come in to shelter themselves from the biting chill of winter wind, studying the brand new variety of Christmas drinks with glazed eyes. The baristas are hard at work, belting out orders and adding extra cream to drinks. A regular caramel frappe here, a chocolate and raspberry infusion there.

Niall's cheeks are flushed as he hurries about behind the counter, wiping down the countertop after each third drink that has been served. The queue seems to be neverending and it doesn't help that the customer at the front does not seem to be in any hurry. Niall gapes incredulously as the boy before him scribbles something down into what seems to be a wellworn leather journal.

"Um, excuse me?" Niall prods, trying to be as polite as possible. "Would you like to place your order?"

The boy fiddles with the blunt pencil in his hand, twisting it around before peering up at Niall. His eyes are childishly curious, green like the marbles Niall used to play with at Darragh's house back when he was a child and his Da couldn't really afford those flashy red fire trucks.  


With the utmost care, he tucks the pencil behind his ear along with a few strands of his hair. 

"What rhymes with blush?" 

Niall blinks, "What?" 

The stranger (very pretty stranger) frowns, too-big front teeth nipping into his pillowy bottom lip. He holds up a finger and carefully, like he's trying not to frighten away a startled rabbit, brings the pad up to Niall's warm cheek. His fingertip is soft and a bit chilly. 

"What rhymes with blush?" 

Niall watches his mouth forms the words; realises he would very much like to press his thumb into the dip of his cupid's bow. Just hold it there. 

The brunette smiles, pulling away and smoothing a hand down the front of his faded Beatles' shirt. There's a distinct schezwan sauce stain on the tummy, and that in itself makes Niall huff out a chuckle. The stranger blinks, all doe eyed and then his smile widens and  _Christ the Redeemer he's got dimples._

"Looks like you're a bit tongue tied there, _monsieur_. Perhaps I could take you out for dinner, and you'd be ready with a homonym for me by tonight?" 

There are other customers in line grumbling about the delay. The one who's second in line is very interestedly peering into the leather bound journal, eyes shifting between the open pages and then Niall, a sly smirk on her face. Niall's having a hard time getting a grip on himself and suddenly Louis' there, chastising him for taking so long. 

He's being shooed away to prepare the drinks while Louis takes the orders and Niall protests disgruntedly. 

They're best mates and Louis can be a prick at times, but he's a really romantic at heart. 

So later when Louis slips the attractive bloke a tissue with Niall's number on it along with a hot cocoa that's apparently 'on the blonde', Niall decides not to give him grief for it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You miiight recognise this from a prompt floating around Omegle...
> 
> Yeahhh it's mine.


	3. The One With New Beginnings

"Anne, hi," Niall breathes into the phone, pressing it between his shoulder and ear as he slings the rings of the blinds onto the curtain rod. "How are ya?"

He glances behind him just to check on Harry, smiles when he sees him on the uncarpeted floor with his legs sprawled out before him. His boyfriend is so precious like this, tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth as he tries to make head or tail of the instruction manual on his lap. There are dismantled boards of wood, various sizes of screwdrivers as well as a hammer littered haphazardly around him like a star patterned explosion.

Unhindered, watery winter sunlight spills through the open window and lights up the room in a curious manner; the lack of furniture makes the space look large and open, the thick coat of still-drying ochre paint gleaming. The smell of chemicals layers the air heavily, but it isn't entirely unpleasant. The door has been varnished and boxes have been pushed to the far side so that they can be unpacked one at a time.

Niall wonders where the carpet Liam had rolled up oh-so-carefully has disappeared. He thinks back to the day him and Liam had finally gotten around to claiming who owned what. Three years of rooming together had resulted in a specific kind of dual ownership which had been painful to let go of. Niall got the TV and Liam the futon. He wasn't complaining. He was pretty sure Liam had shagged his girlfriend on that couch and then tried to do damage control by flipping the cushions over. 

"I'm doing alright, love. Missing my two boys is all. You know you could've stayed for as long as you needed, right?" comes Anne's voice, tinny over the phone line. 

The curve of Niall's mouth goes a little soft at just how _maternal_ she sounds. So different from the woman who had knocked off her mug of hot chocolate in celebration the night she'd won the annual Cox-Styles' scrabbles tournament. Niall treasures those glimpses where he can see, just for a moment, how Harry is so much like his mother or sister. He would've loved to stay with them for another month, but him and Harry had promised each other a long time ago that they were going to do this together. 

The two of them finally starting a life of their own. 

Three years of Harry picking him up for dates on his motorcycle. Three years of peering through the French windows of the creative writing lecture hall just to watch his boyfriend scribble religiously into his notebook. Three years of sneaking out of the drama department's bimonthly production just after Louis' exuent on stage.  
Because Tommo would only ask them whether they enjoyed his acting and as long as they were able to answer questions pertaining to his character, they'd be fine. 

Snogging in the dark stairwell leading up to the stage lights was more enjoyable, anyway. Zayn would always spare them a knowing glance, but he wouldn't push. 

Niall bends to chuck Harry affectionately under the chin - receiving a blinding dimpled grin in return - before continuing on his way to the empty kitchen. The counter is black marble - or a cheaper substitute, he's not sure - and the sink is dry and untouched. The overhead cabinets had been there before they moved in and the both of them quite liked the dark wood, so they weren't going to get it replaced. It's not like they are particularly loaded on cash. The basic refrigerator was a graduation present from Bobby; trust his da to know exactly what he needs, always. One hand grips the edge of the countertop while the other holds the phone up to his ear. The window above the sink looks down onto the little park attached to the apartment complex. Even from up here, he can tell that the grass has frosted over and the swings are covered in a thin layer of snow. 

He's lived in this city long enough to know that by the next night, people with houses were going to have a hard time shoveling snow off their front yards. 

"Of course; but you know how much we've wanted to do this. We've taken the time we needed and I- We're _both_ so grateful to you for letting us stay for as long as you did. And this is like a new chapter for us, but that doesn't mean we won't need you," he intones, then quieter, "He'll always need you."

Over the line, he can hear how Anne breathes in. Fragile and shuddering. Like she's filling herself up with all the love him and Harry have to offer. But he wants her to know that she doesn't need to do that. She doesn't need to store it away for lonely afternoons with a cuppa and a crossword because they're right here. Niall's not stealing her little bug away.

"Thank you, darling. He needs you, too. Look after him for me, won't you?" 

He knows she's smiling now, misty eyed and shaky. But smiling nonetheless. 

She doesn't even have to ask, because of course he will take care of his Bambi. He's just about to tell her that when-

 

"Uhh...Niall?"

Harry sounds sheepish and guilty all at once, like he does when he's messed up something and isn't sure if it's important. It's usually very important. Niall bites down on his lip to quell the grin threatening to spill out over his features. 

"I will, and right now I have to go make sure he doesn't nail his thumb into the wall unit. Proof enough?" 

 

Anne's laugh rings just like Harry's when Niall surprises him with a spontaneous kiss and smiles against his sweet lips, tackling him to the floor.


End file.
